


The Telling of the Tale, Pt. 1

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [30]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Exposition, Forced Pregnancy, Heaven & Hell, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hell is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reconciliation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27955970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Prince Beelzebub has some explaining to do. Aziraphale deserves answers about how he came to be, and who his mother is as a person, a former Archangel, and the Interim King of Hell.He's about to get them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Beelzebub (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Raphael (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Telling of the Tale, Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZealouslyMinki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZealouslyMinki/gifts).



> CW: No smut, rape, torture, descriptions are not graphic, no blood
> 
> If I missed something, hit me up in the comments!

Aziraphale was asleep, deeply asleep, on top of Crowley when the imp began to shriek.

Crowley, being a snake, appreciated the steady and warm pressure of Aziraphale’s corporation. Aziraphale liked the feeling of Crowley beneath him, safe. Moreover, it tended to keep Crowley in the bed and not on the ceiling.

In Crowley’s bed, with rain pattering the skylight and the window, Aziraphale had found sleep easily enough.

Prince Beelzebub’s warning had sent them into Crowley’s realm. The windows in the foyer overlooked the Circus Agonalis in Rome. The piazza was empty as Aziraphale and Crowley entered his realm. It had been empty, very empty, for weeks. Because of the virus.

Crowley’s bedroom window, though, showed Trafalgar Square. The rain fell on the window and skylight as it did on the Square. They undressed in silence, and curled up together in Crowley’s bed.

The bed was large and soft, though it appeared as sleek and blocky as the rest of Crowley’s furniture (minus the artifacts that he’d stolen to mark his life with Aziraphale). They sank into it together.

“I love you,” Crowley said.

“And I, you,” Aziraphale returned.

Aziraphale did not want to get caught in an anxiety loop of asking the same question over and over. Instead, he held his demon close, inhaling the scent of the back of this head. Running his hands over Crowley’s chest.

Crowley made his soft Crowley noises, and this only encouraged Aziraphale. His strokes became lighter, and used more fingernail than before. The demon sighed, and turned his head.

He was peering at Aziraphale with pupils wide and round enough to hold galaxies. His lips were right there, and his mouth was open, just a hair. Aziraphale needed no further welcome. He kissed him.

He’d meant for it to be comforting and sweet, but Crowley was hungry for more than comfort and sweetness.

It did not take long to find himself above Crowley, and then inside him. Crowley took him in, curling around him as he sank into his flesh. Their lovemaking was slow and tender, with Aziraphale drawing out Crowley’s climaxes until the snake lost all of his recalcitrance. Until he was begging. Until he was too exhausted to beg.

And after, beneath the rain that (technically speaking) did not exist, he’d fallen asleep.

The rain cleared and the sun rose. He and Crowley slept on, oblivious.

The shrieking woke him.

“BOSS! BOSS! BOSS!”

The imp had made it out of his basket by the door and was now hopping up and down at the side of the bed. Aziraphale stared at it, blinking in the morning sun that streamed through the skylight.

“You’re not Boss. I need Boss. BOOOOOSS! MESSAGE! URGENT MESSAGE!” It hopped again. “BOSS! BOSS!”

“Erg...’m here...” Crowley grumbled, sitting up.

Aziraphale crawled backwards, freeing Crowley. “Apparently, it’s for you, my dear.”

“What’s the message?”

“Message from Beelzebub, Interim King of Hell. As follows--” the imp said, looking imperious and self-important as he delivered Prince Beelzebub’s words. “‘Crowley, it is finished. I am ready to explain. Call when you are ready for company. It will be myself and Gabriel. We mean no harm to either of you.’ Signed, Beelzebub, Interim King of Hell.”

“Thanks,” Crowley said. “Reply...uh...Your place or mine? Give us about an hour.”

“Done.”

The imp moved aside as Crowley stepped out of bed. It followed him to the bathroom, but Crowley toed it away as he closed the door.

“I piss privately, thank you,” he said.

The imp looked cross, as much as a black licorice jelly could look cross.

Aziraphale heard the flush and the water running. The door opened.

“All yours, angel.” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded, and went to see to his corporation’s needs.

When he exited the bathroom, Crowley was already dressed.

“We don’t need an hour, do we?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose. What...what do they want?”

“To talk.” Crowley had the imp in his hands. It was a cellular phone again, and he was scrolling through something on it. “Beelzebub invited us to their place, for food and explanations.”

“Are we accepting?”

“They said that the whole world is safe for you now, so yeah.”

“Alright...I’ll get dressed.”

Azraphale crossed the room to the bed, rumpled and unmade, still smelling of their passion, and leaned over to kiss Crowley on the cheek. Crowley turned his face and caught Aziraphale’s kiss with his mouth.

When he pulled away, he could see Crowley’s eyes over his dark glasses. They were wide with fear and his pupils were wide, as well.

Aziraphale did not have to ask what Crowley was afraid of. His ex-boss was dangerous, and Gabriel only marginally less dangerous.

Instead, he pulled his clothes on. His usual tartans, blues, and camels. His polished loafers and his comfortable cardigan. He slipped his own cell phone in his jacket, with his keys and his wallet.

“I’m going to let them know we’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley clicked out the message.

“Here are the coordinates.” He pulled a sleek leather pad from his breast pocket and scribbled them down. “I’ll go first.”

He handed the paper to Aziraphale, who read the coordinates.

Crowley stood up, nodded at Aziraphale, and disappeared. Aziraphale counted to three, and then followed.

They were in a garden. A back garden. A small, glass-enclosed lantern light burned from the covered porch. Its meager light flickered on a stone fountain, with water burbling from the florid lips of lilies. Aziraphale caught a flash of movement, and realized that there were koi in this fountain, just as there had been in Aomori.

Crowley stood a few steps in front of Aziraphale. His eyes were on the door. The leaded glass lit up, and Aziraphale could hear it unlock.

He slipped behind Crowley, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

The door opened, revealing Prince Beelzebub. Their suit was mended since the last time that Aziraphale had seen them in it, and they were smiling.

“Crowley...” they said. “Aziraphale. Welcome.”

“You have a lot to explain,” Crowley said.

“Yes, but not outside.” They shrugged, and with the smile on their face, they looked almost innocent. “Please...I made coffee.”

Crowley walked to the porch.

“Our safety?”

“I swear it.” They looked over their shoulder. “So does he.”

“You worked things out with him, then?”

They nodded.

“Figured. He’s a solid investment. I mean, if Heaven gives you any trouble.”

“Crowley...Heaven isn’t an issue,” Prince Beelzebub said. “I had you hide Aziraphale from the other angels because he’s the only other healer in Heaven besides Raphael. And Raphael was...incapacitated. I needed him kept away from the fight. Away from where they could make use of him.”

“‘Use of him’?”

“Heaven isn’t an issue anymore because only three angels have not been put to the fires.”

“What?”

“Three. Him, Gabriel, and Ligur,” Prince Beelzebub confirmed. “Now, come in, so I can explain.”

They stepped back, and Crowley entered. Aziraphale went with him.

He did not know what he expected for the home of a Prince of Hell, but an updated and beautiful airy kitchen in stone and wood, with touches of greenery? That was not it.

Though, he might expect that from Raphael’s lost student.

The kitchen was redolent with coffee, and Aziraphale’s mouth watered for it. He paused, though, when he saw Gabriel. His former boss, radiant as ever in a dove grey suit with lavender accents, was sitting quite stiffly on a wrought iron café chair. He brightened when he saw Aziraphale.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” he said. “I’d say sorry for the Hellfire, but I think that might be inadequate.”

“Ah, yes. Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied, coolly. “It would be.”

“Coffee, Aziraphale?” Prince Beelzebub asked. “I have croissants and pastries as well.”

“Thank you, Your Disgrace,” Aziraphale said, remembering his courtesies.

“Titles are not necessary,” Prince Beelzebub said, waving a hand in front of themself. “Have a seat. Both of you.”

Aziraphale took the seat beside Gabriel, and Crowley sat beside him.

“I don’t know how you take yours,” they said, setting a silver tray on the table. “Cream, sugar, honey, whipped cream, Bosco.”

“Bosco?” Aziraphale asked.

“Chocolate syrup.”

The Prince set a mug capped with chocolate syrup drizzled fluff down in front of Gabriel, and he leaned up and kissed them on the cheek as they did it. They blushed.

They took one for themself, and let Crowley and Aziraphale make their own. Prince Beelzebub lifted a pastry covered in slivered almonds from a plate of them and brought them to their mouth. They ate with relish.

But as tidily as Aziraphale did.

This was his mother.

He always knew that his Maker loved him.

This demon was his Maker.

They looked over their Danish at him.

Same eyes. Crowley was right.

The Prince was nothing but manners and courtesy. Talk did not begin until they had each gotten some food into themselves, and at least half a cup of coffee.

“From the beginning, then?” they asked.

Crowley nodded, picking at the crumble on a blueberry muffin.

“In the Garden, I was given to Raphael,” Prince Beelzebub began. “He was cruel. He took me apart under an oak tree, and showed me my own parts. He showed me how every part of my body functioned. Eventually, he found that I could pleasure him with one of my Efforts...I was made with both...”

“Like Baphomet?” Aziraphale asked.

“One of my many names over the centuries,” they said, and their face broke into a wide grin. “Yes, I have both. And Raphael discovered that I could pleasure him with one of my Efforts, so he began to use me in that way. God ordered us to make a child, before she had her humans try it. As an experiment.”

“Rubbish,” Crowley said.

“What precisely?”

“God made us. She knew everything our bodies could do.”

“Yes.”

“Why would She ask you to do something that She already knew the outcome of?”

“If She is omnipotent and omniscient, then She likely wanted to torture me with something worse than Raphael. If She is either not omniscient or not omnipotent, it is possible that Raphael got me with child after abusing me every day, and She decided to let me bear the child.” The demon shrugged. “Either way...Raphael began to draw the child from my womb, so we could watch it develop. I sang to my son, and when I named him...I began to whisper that name to him. I promised him that he would be loved, and that he was a sacred thing.”

Gabriel’s hand went to their shoulder, and Aziraphale reached out. He didn’t have to reach far. Gabriel’s emotions were potent, and familiar.

How many times had Aziraphale longed to protect someone he loved from an ancient pain?

“I bore you in blood and pain, and I named you after your father,” they said, the tears heavy in their eyes. “My eldest son. My Aziraphale.”

“Eldest? I have...siblings?”

“Two. One by blood and one by adoption,” Prince Beelzebub confirmed. “So you knew already that you were mine?”

“Crowley figured it out,” Aziraphale replied.

“He said Raphael said he had his mother’s eyes,” Crowley said with a shrug. A smear of whipped cream glistened across his nose, and he wiped it away. “Only one creature on this rock has eyes like his.”

“Ah...”

“But he’d have been Nephilim, not an angel,” Crowley pressed.

“Yes. He was. You were,” they said. “I kept you at my breast for a while. Two years, or close enough. You could talk, and you could walk. You liked food and flowers. The animals in the garden liked you. Raphael did not.”

“What did I do to Raphael?” Aziraphale asked, and he sounded far more indignant than he intended.

“You stole me from him. I had to care for you,” they explained. “He said that I was becoming lax in my studies. He put you to sleep--far too deeply, dangerously deeply. And he would force himself on me. Or he would wait for you to fall asleep on your own, and he would force himself on me.” They paused. “He’d say, ‘Don’t wake him, or I’ll have to put him to sleep.’ He knew I didn’t like it when he put you to sleep. So I’d be as quiet as I could. I’d focus on the butterflies that landed in your hair, or I’d count the leaves in the tree. But I would not wake you. No matter what he did to me.”

“That’s sick...” Crowley said.

“It is.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?”

“No.”

“Not even him?” Crowley gestured at Gabriel, whose face was stuck in a horrible rictus grimace.

“No.” Prince Beelzebub looked down, and their shoulders sank beneath the invisible weight of their story. “I only wanted to tell it once, but you all deserve to know. Gabriel knows some of it, and you have guessed some more of it, Crowley.” They smiled, a sad and crooked little thing. “Thanks for the cheese, Crowley. After Ekron? It did help.”

The tears began to stream from behind Crowley’s dark glasses, “Aw...don’t mention...I mean...I’m glad... _ngk_...”

The Prince reached their hand out, and it landed on Crowley’s. They laced their fingers together.

“What would it have been if you didn’t suggest the Holy Water?” he asked.

The question came out of nowhere, but the Prince answered it.

“Eons of torture, in and out of your flesh. Potentially, a prisoner exchange with Heaven, so the angels could torture you and the demons would be given Aziraphale,” they replied. “About what you’d expect from the other Princes.”

“Oh.”

“How did you know I suggested the Holy Water?”

“Who else?” Crowley said. “And now that I know he’s your son...Beelzebub, you’ve always moved mountains for those you loved.”

“Heaven...Heaven was hard to convince.”

“Heaven was not,” Gabriel said, and his voice startled Aziraphale. “I was.”

“You?” Prince Beelzebub said.

“Yeah...Beez...I...” he sputtered. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you...but I’d noticed that you hadn’t been...right...in a while...and I thought...I thought it might not be wise to give you something that could kill you.”

Aziraphale clinked his mug to his saucer and looked at Gabriel. There was a hurt in those violet eyes, and he had the Prince’s other hand in his.

“Did...did it hurt?” Aziraphale asked. “Did it hurt when you gave them the water?”

“Michael handled that part,” Gabriel explained. “But...when I signed the paperwork...yeah. It hurt.”

“A burning? Here?” Aziraphale laid his hand over his heart. “And then a blazing pain in your head, so intense that you couldn’t stand?”

“Yeah, actually.” Gabriel squinted at Aziraphale. “How did you know that?”

Aziraphale picked up his coffee and took another sip. “That’s what it felt like to steal water from the Golden Shores for Crowley.”

“You stole Holy Water for a demon?”

“Mm...yes. He needed it, and I provided it.”

“Gabriel, we’ll get there,” Prince Beelzebub said gently. “It’s a long tale--and I assume that there are parts that we will all have to illuminate.”

He drew their hand to his lips and kissed them. Prince Beelzebub smiled at him, and Aziraphale thought that they were beautiful in their happiness.

“And you,” they said, turning to Crowley. “As broken as I was...as full of the empty of Hell...I loved you enough to make it clean. And quick. Dagon was ready to tear your face off, and Hastur would have done worse, given the chance.”

Crowley had not wiped his tears from his face, or maybe these were new? Aziraphale did not know.

The Prince leaned over, very quickly, and laid a kiss on Crowley’s lips. A chaste kiss, a greeting amongst the angels of the Garden.

“I missed you,” they said, and the words sounded like they’d been wrung from them. “I missed you...my dearest friend. I missed you as I missed Ekron. The empty couldn’t take it, and I did not plan to linger long after your destruction. Even if Gabriel wouldn’t grant me Holy Water, humans make enough of it. Potent enough. I would have stayed long enough to be with Adam until he passed...”

“Adam?” Aziraphale asked.

“Adam, the Antichrist,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Your brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> For ZealouslyMinki, who has been with me since the beginning, and I love you for it, my darling!
> 
> Maybe a few extra chapters? IDK, however long it takes for Beelzebub to explain themself.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> [Piazza Novona](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piazza_Navona), AKA Circus Agonalis, a very famous landmark in Rome.
> 
> [Trafalgar Square](https://end.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trafalgar_Square) a famous landmark in London.
> 
> [Bosco Syrup](https://www.boscoworld.com/), a New Jersey product that's a New Orleans staple.
> 
> I think that's it? Ask questions in the comments, and get answers.
> 
> Comments and kudos are chocolate covered coffee beans for the soul.


End file.
